


A Stranger to Heaven

by vev_gesheh



Category: Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Gay, Homosexuality, Just very slow ok, Longing, Love, M/M, Male Homosexuality, My First AO3 Post, My First Fanfic, My First Work in This Fandom, Secret Crush, Sexuality, Sexuality Crisis, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-17 01:38:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16506827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vev_gesheh/pseuds/vev_gesheh
Summary: During one of his night shifts as a guard in the royal castle, married man Kaladin cannot seem to draw his eyes from the big painting of heaven on the ceiling, nor stop thinking of the broad-shouldered man who greeted him in the rain.A Stranger to Heaven is the story about beginning to accept one’s sexuality, and managing the immense shame, stress, and hopefulness that comes with it.





	A Stranger to Heaven

“But why should not I, for once in my indigent life, allow myself a tiny love story? One does only live once.”  
A pesky rain, so rich he could barely see inches before him, whipped against his left cheek as he turned the last corner, and officially entered the kingdom. Above the storm-filled clouds, the night’s stars started to blossom, and adorn the dusky horizon.  
“Shallan is great, just great. But it does become too monotonous, being with the same woman day after day, night after night, year after year. I have been married to her for almost four year, and have without fail been her nothing but unfaithful. But… I do not love her. And so, why should not I allow myself the tiniest of love stories, in this indigent life?”  
A man passed him by, and greeted him politely.  
“Captain.”  
With rushed steps, he then fled from the biting rain, and before Kaladin himself got the chance to answer, he had walked past. The street laying in front of the guard suddenly felt very desolate. Kaladin stopped in his tracks, and turned around to get a glimpse of the man; a task seemingly impossible, since the livid rain vastly irritated his eyes. Once again, he was forced to lower his glance.

A cold drop of rain fell from Kaladin's nose as he stepped into the royal palace, beginning his guarding night shift. The ornate, gold arches surrounding the entering ballroom seemed to shine even brighter than the last time he was here - the red velvet curtains softer, and the ethereal ceiling painting more beautiful than ever. Kaladin did not dare to look at it for too long.  
If only I lived far away, he thought. If only I lived far away, I could stop working so fatiguing on appearing both powerful and persistent. And nobody would talk about you on some dirty streets. But no - freedom was a luxury a guard could not afford. Instead, he had to create his own, by being discrete, careful, and closed off.  
He could not stop thinking about the man on the storm-troubled, kingdom street. At once, he felt the usual nausea trickle up inside him. Had he been watching after him for too long? Had he seemed peculiar? And as if the lack of a greeting had not been ill-mannered enough; Kaladin also had difficulty placing the man’s face. Was it an old crew member from Dalinar’s War Camp, or even an acquaintance from Hearthstone? There was also the possibility that the man was one of the homeless men of the kingdom, who due to the recent weather had been asking for a night’s sleep at the castle. This would promise that Kaladin could never place the man. So many homeless men came by nowadays. Kaladin had begun getting tired of saying no.

Somewhere in the castle, Kaladin could hear a the faint sound of woman singing. Her voice seemed to resound threefold in the great hall, and without making out a single of the song’s words, she reminded him of a choir of angels. Kaladin’s gaze involuntarily swung upwards, taking in the painting in the ceiling. Only a few words could describe its character. Paradisiacal. Enchanting. Foreign. Along with the woman’s wordless song, Kaladin almost wanted to burst into crying. Among the golden clouds and light blue winds danced angels, whose wind-borne clothes flowed around their otherwise bare bodies. The children played instruments in a synchronized clutter all over the sky, the women stretched their arms in the most graceful of poses, and the men, with their powerful arms, their curly hair and broad shoulders. They looked at the women.  
Hastily, Kaladin lowered his eyes from the bodies. The nausea grew stronger, and he tried to silence it by firmly fixing his eyes on the castle gate. This would be a long night.  
… The man in the rain had had curly hair. It had gently rested along his forehead, wet and flat from the rain. Surely his arms had also been strong - maybe he was an old slave, that Kaladin had briefly met during the years Kaladin actively had tried to forget. Maybe that was why Kaladin stood so helplessly unable to remember who he was. But he had been walking upright, wearing a beautiful, well-fitted uniform of some sort; it’s sleeve stopping right at his wrist. Such wealth and self-esteem was not common of the former slaves. And his voice, pronouncing Kaladin's simple work title; Captain. He had effortlessly succeeded in stating the title with such a ring that it, for once, did not sound like an undeserved rank, but as a strong and unitary elation. Maybe he was not such a failure anyway, the Captain of the King's Guard. And the way the man had articulated this name - which suddenly felt external from Kaladin himself - how his rain-washed lips moved, how his wet tongue had-  
Kaladin rapidly shook his head. No - he would stop thinking about this unknown man, as he stopped thinking of all men. Once again, he forced his eyes on the castle doors, who stood as quiet and closed as ever.

Seconds, minutes or hours went by. Kaladin contemplated leaving the spot where he usually stood, to walk around in the room. Maybe venture out the doors for a second, getting some fresh air. The hall felt sultry and cramped, and the singing made him nervous. In addition to this, the nausea was still jolting around in his stomach and throat, and under no circumstances would Kaladin even consider being sick in the castle. That would have to be done in a more private place; a place where no one would see him. The rain-heavy streets had seemed very much desolate. Perhaps he would walk that same way home, after his shift? Yes, he thought, that was a good decision, and so it should be done.  
At once, Kaladin started to feel watched. He quickly scoured the room, but could only see glimmering gold details reflecting in the moonlight. It did not put him to ease. Kaladin, irrationally, felt these invisible night-watchers questioning him. He knew they would follow him to the rainy street, and they would ponder, why did the king’s guard walk this unusual way home? Perhaps, it was best to avoid the street. Kaladin did not want to invite unrighteous talk.  
The hall only seemed to shrink in size. Kaladin knew the street would probably be empty by now - the rain still fell heavily, and the moon stood high - but he could not stop his manic thoughts. What did he have to lose? Many nights he had stood in the same spots, guarding an empty room, and many mornings he went home, without any event to tell. Would it be such a horror to, for once, leave a little early? Shallan would most likely be pleased to see him come home prior to the sunrise, for once. And it sure was a while ago Kaladin did something for his wife.  
Kaladin took three quick steps towards the doors. His face radiated a faint hopefulness, weak enough to be blown out by a sleeping toddler’s breath. His legs were shaking to the point that he almost fell over, and with his pale fingers enfolding the door knob, he felt shamefully fragile. I’ll be leaving early for my wife’s sake, he softly repeated for himself, but felt that every person in the kingdom would stand outside the doors, aggressively questioning his choice of route home. So instead, he stood frozen, only inches before the big, golden doors.

“Excuse me?”  
Kaladin’s heart skipped a beat, and he swiftly spun around. Before him stood the king himself, and Kaladin felt the shame overtake his face in the color of blood.  
The king pointed at the doors.  
“Did you hear something?”  
Kaladin followed the kings sleek fingers with his gaze, and once again, his eyes met the awful doors. He contemplated lying, stating that yes, he had in fact heard something, and was just taking a quick look outside, but he knew how paranoid the king could be. Kaladin did not wish to scare him. His head felt inhumanly heavy.  
“No, your honor.” he said, looking down. “I was considering leaving early. I have not talked to my wife in days - not properly, at least.”  
He braced himself for a yelling, but an almost soundless sigh made him instead lift his head. The king was looking right at him, their eyes meeting, and Kaladin noticed that the nausea in his head increased, but at the same time, started to feel manageable. A thumping of relief.  
“Your wife is a lucky woman.” Elhokar stated, and Kaladin involuntarily open his mouth; in both surprise and the want to protest this statement. It would not be a wise choice.  
“I suppose so.” he instead answered, his voice low, and looked down on the floor again.  
The men stood in silence. The singing that prior filled the hall had stopped; Kaladin could not remember when.  
“Do you not look forward to this?” the king asked, and Kaladin rose his head again, to find the king watching the angelic painting on the ceiling. He sighed, and turned his head toward Kaladin, his mouth forming a shy smile.  
Kaladin reluctantly turned his head upwards too, and as many times before, took in the heaven portrayed the painting. He found himself unable to answer the king’s question. It was not that easy. Elhokar continued.  
“Are you happy?”  
Kaladin took a second to answer.  
“No person is truly happy, your honor.” he said, surprising himself with the answer, even though he realized he agreed. “One has to maintain anyway, as well as one possibly can.”  
“Yes.” the king nodded slowly. “I suppose one does.”  
Kaladin found himself mimicking the king’s movements, absentmindedly nodding along. Outside the doors, he could hear the dense rain falling. It suddenly felt very unpleasant, the world outside the doors. Why would he leave his post to stroll in darkness and storm, when he could stand among gold and red velvet, perfectly content and dry? He took three steps back to his usual spot, careful not to look at the king’s face. Shame still pulsating through the veins of his face.  
“You’re not leaving?” the king asked, and Kaladin shook his head.  
“I’m glad.” Elhokar added.  
He stretched his hand out, reaching for Kaladin’s, who in shock handed him his. Was this real? Elhokars hand was soft, yet boney, and although Kaladin’s heart started to delightfully tickle in the most settling way, this action seemed just as wrong as it seemed perfectly right. He was both relieved and crushed, when Elhokar shook his hand.  
“I’m truly happy you’re staying, Kaladin.” he said.  
Kaladin was not sure if he answered, but looked up, and their eyes met. Kaladin could not help but smile foolishly.  
They said nothing more.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone - it's Elliot!  
> Thank you SO MUCH for reading, it means the world to me! This is my first fic, so I would so much appreciate tips in the comments if you've got time!
> 
> Again, thankssss so much!!!  
> xoxo


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